Fly in the Ointment
by smalld1171
Summary: Set in 7x15.  Missing scene after the boys leave the warehouse. Dean's POV.


**Hi. I've stared and stared at all my other stories for the last few days… major, major writer's block going on there… But, I wanted to write something to release some 'Writer Blockitis' build up and this is the result.**

_**Set in 7x15. Missing scene of what happens after the boys leave the warehouse. Nothing too plot heavy, just a chance to abuse Dean because it always makes me feel better. I hope any who read will find some enjoyment. Thanks.**_

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><p>He peels away from the hospital, leaving Nora and her 'short one ear' kid at the emergency room doors. The fight mode his body had adopted starts to wane, replaced by a permeating stiffness in his joints and the feel of drifting out on the road somewhere, lightheaded and numb.<p>

Well what should he expect? After all, he was strapped to a damn chair after being stabbed in the neck by the guy he was there to save and oh, let's not forget about being sliced and relieved of his blood. Seeing his blood in a bowl, man, that never gets old, always a great time. He snickers at that.

A quick glance to the rear view mirror and the realization that he looks like a warmed up piece of leftover demon chow and he is thrust back into the scene he just escaped from. What the hell was wrong with that guy? Him and Sam, they were so gungho on saving some piece of crap that got off on killing innocent women? It's just… since when do humans _want_ to be demon playthings? It's not right. It's dead wrong and it's giving him a damn headache. Why do they waste their time? They could have been doing something, anything to get closer to Roman but no, had to stop and get rid of a demon that DIDN'T EXIST!

His hands tighten around the steering wheel and he resists the urge to punch it, or the window, or the dash just to let some of his frustration out. He's so damn tired of this shit. Saving people? He chuckles. It stopped being about that so long ago. Hell, maybe all the people they risk their lives for don't even want to be saved. Maybe it's a whole planet full of Jeffrey's and he and Sam are just the annoying fly in their 'let's destroy the world' ointment.

The sensation of wetness on his skin tracks his hand to his arm and he hisses softly at the pain that still resides there. His hand comes away bloody and he stares at it for a moment, he marvels at the way it doesn't even phase him that he was bloodletted just an hour ago.

Typical day in his typical, blood infused existence.

His eyes stare out the window, focusing on the darkness of the night, driving in some shit car in some shit town on the way to another shit motel. Awesome.

A sudden chill he is unable to suppress shudders through him and the focus he held on the road moments ago seems to flicker and shift, his eyes deciding to blur everything into a mass of undistinguishable features before joining together again.

"Dean?"

He almost jumps out of his fricken skin at that. Shit. He kinda forgot Sam was even there with him. Okay, first order of business when they get back? Sleep. How far away is the motel again? What's the name of it? Frick, this blows.

He swivels his head and seeing that Sam's eyebrows have risen up in that certain way they do makes him wonder if he said that last part out loud.

"Listen, I think we need to pull over for a minute. Okay?"

He's on automatic now, not really sure why Sam would want him to pull over but doing it just the same. If it wasn't for Sammy...

He swerves to the side of the road and parks the car, eyes looking straight ahead and mind replaying the moment when that piece of crap left with his dog and came back with only _part_ of it in that damn bowl. Who does that kind of shit? Oh right, demon wanna be.

He smirks then, as he recalls the moment when he felt almost giddy pumping that loser full of lead. Twice. That's what happens when you dance with demons buddy, you die… bloody.

His head turns to the passenger seat and all he sees is empty space. Where the…

He's still looking towards where he was sure he just saw Sam when the sound of his door opening perks up his ears and turns his hands to fists. Another demon? Yeah, probably, that would make sense. Or, maybe another _postal_ postal worker? Since when did it get so damn hard to figure out the good guys from the bad?

"Jesus Dean, you're bleeding all over the place. You look like shit. C'mon, I'm driving."

He wants to protest and is just about to tell his brother where to shove it when Sam's paws descend on him and he is extracted from the driver's seat.

He grips the frame of his piss-poor excuse of a car with his functioning arm and shuts his eyes to try and figure out what the hell position he is in. Standing? Sitting? Tilting? Laying down? Damn if he can't concentrate enough to come to a conclusion on that one.

He grumbles into the bedspread as he is rudely jostled around by an offending hand on his shoulder.

"ged off S'mm… lemme sleep… bed's comfy.."

"Umm… not a bed dude, you landed face first into my chest."

He peels open his heavy laden lids and finds he is indeed staring directly into his brother's plaid shirt.

Awkward.

"Let's get back to the motel, I'll stitch you up and then you can have a nice, long sleep. Sound good?"

He nods and Sam leads him slowly around to the passenger side. He feels like he weighs a tonne and is relieved when his ass touches the seat and he can melt his entire body into the fabric of it.

His head rolls towards his brother after he hears the driver side door close and tries his damndest to focus in on his brother's face and do his best impression of his patented 'I'm fine dude' smile. Sam doesn't look his way which is okay by him because he doesn't really think he could smile if he tried. He feels dizzy and tired and sore and pissed off all at the same time.

He knows the feeling, he's been through it many times before. He is on the verge of losing the battle, well on his way to passing out. From blood loss or fatigue or disbelief at the freakshow he just endured he isn't sure, but it's coming, and as hard as he tries he can't seem to shake or fight it off.

The last thing he sees as his vision darkens and his hold on the waking world start to slip further and further away is of his brother, digging into the palm of his hand with a fervour he hasn't seen since right after that damn wall came tumbling down.

Sam? What's happening?

He wants to shout out to his brother, tell him whatever he sees isn't real but the words get lodged somewhere in his throat and instead come out as a low groan. A pang of panic grips him for a millisecond before he loses the battle and is taken away by the current of unconsciousness.

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><p><strong>End. Just felt the need to get out some hurt Dean cuz it always makes me smile. Thanks for stopping by.<strong>


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